


secondhand

by charcoalsuns



Series: sportsfest 2018 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15339255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: The morning of one high school graduation, and the morning of another.





	secondhand

**Author's Note:**

> (BR 1) [for a prompt by bravebow](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/7464.html?thread=239144#cmt239144):
> 
> TIME: just before dawn, on graduation day  
> PLACE: a doorway

  


Kei can't sleep, which isn't new, not by a long shot.

And he might be used to things that aren't new, but he's sick of hand-me-downs.

None of the doors in their house squeal like pigs on their hinges, so he presses his cheek to the doorjamb and leaves a crack, like he has been, like he's been made to by the circumstances. He's sick of hand-me-down silences.

The circumstances are these: Akiteru stopped coming home late for dinner four months ago. Kei hasn't seen the name _Karasuno High School_ in four months. If he hears it, the channel's changed before he can hear the rest. No news for him.

That's not entirely true. He'll be in sixth grade next month, and there's a freshly tailored uniform shirt hanging in a plastic bag in his closet. It's because despite the shoes he's always filled out just fine, the rest of their measurements have since diverged.

 _Well, then, I'm off,_ comes the voice from the front door, two closed ones and a short, childish race away. Kei turns his eyes to the clock on his desk. _05:57_.

The door closes.

Kei opens his.

  
  
  


It's been a while since he's seen this kind of sky, Kei thinks, as he glances through the front window and catches a stretch of blankness above the treeline. The trees themselves are blank, too, barely more depth than two-dimensional shadows, barely awake against deep blue that reminds him of the laptop his brother brings with him when he comes home. 

He finds his shoes, bottoms marked by gravel though the uppers are smooth and scuff-free, and folds himself down to put them on.

He hasn't had to leave the house this early for weeks and weeks, but the necessary lamplight is warm across the _genkan_ , soft across the mostly empty folds of his schoolbag.

"Hey," comes the voice from the door behind him, smiling. "Have a good day."

Kei ties off his other shoelace. When he stands up and turns around, on this side of the step, he's still a little taller, even without Akiteru leaning carefully against the doorjamb. His impassiveness meets his brother's uncontained pride somewhere in the tilt of silence around them.

This pride, unlike that from an adjacent cause, is entirely secondhand. By the time it reaches back to Kei, it is even further from new. He doesn't mind.

"Are you," he starts, and flicks his eyes away. It makes it easier to finish, "Are you coming later?"

"Of course!" Akiteru's reply is prompt and incontestable. "Why do you think I came home in the middle of the week?"

Kei shrugs. Akiteru is still smiling, bright as the lampshade in their home's entryway, light as the deep, cloudless sky above the trees. There is nothing visibly broken about it.

"Don't cheer too loud," Kei tells him, and slings his bag over his shoulder as he turns to the door. "I'm going now."

"I wouldn't dare," says Akiteru.

He almost sounds affronted, though Kei knows better. The thing is, he _would_ dare. And maybe, maybe -- a bit of that streak has been handed down, too.  



End file.
